Chronic
by SaturnineSunshine
Summary: Timeline between seasons five and six. The aftermath of Chuck and Blair returning from Europe. "You'll find out more about your boyfriend when we know more." Blair felt her stomach fall. That wasn't good news. That meant something was bad. That meant blood transfusions and car accidents—"I'm his wife."


A/N: I think I wrote this a year ago, so this is post season 5 before the season 6 shenanigans happened.

Summary: "You'll find out more about your boyfriend when we know more." Blair felt her stomach fall. That wasn't good news. That meant something was bad. That meant blood transfusions and car accidents—"I'm his wife."

Disclaimer: Nothing belongs to me. Characters and inspiration is Gossip Girl. No beta.

* * *

When they crossed the ocean, Blair could feel it. Not like all the other passengers were idly looking out the window of the plane or getting another glass of champagne. It was a physical reaction.

The feeling of Monte Carlo was slipping further and further away. Not that she had any problem with leaving Monaco – she had enough of that for a lifetime. But the months she had spent in that hotel had a profound effect on her.

Casting a look at the passenger beside her, she had a deep-rooted fear that everything would change. Things had been working so well and now she just had the feeling that he would change his mind.

They would change.

He wasn't looking back at her.

That in itself wasn't fatal.

As subtly as she could, Blair looped her arm through Chuck's. He turned slightly, a hint of a smile lighting his normally dark features.

She knew that no one else would have seen it, but she knew he was happy.

He was with her.

Even as the magic of Europe faded away from them.

.

"Chuck?"

Blair heard her own voice echo around the penthouse. There was no answering call and the reverberation faded into nothing.

She stood in the foyer, answered by nothingness.

The elevator doors closed behind the two figures emerging.

"I think we should prepare for the worst."

Blair turned sharply to face Jack, unable to suppress her rage.

"Shut up."

She turned and continued to scour the apartment.

"No one's heard from him, Blair," Nate said quietly. For the hundredth time that night, Blair wished that Chuck's uncle wasn't there. Having followed them back from France, Jack was dead-set on continuing the attempted crucifixion of his brother.

So far, they had not been successful.

Chuck wouldn't have him leave.

Blair hated it. She hated that Chuck felt as though he needed some sort of security in the form of the least trustworthy person to exist. She wanted more than anything for Chuck to put his trust in her.

But she knew why that wasn't exactly realistic. She knew that Jack was blood and that he and his nephew had a shared endgame and motivation.

No one could contest, however, that Blair had the most concern for Chuck. She knew that something was wrong and she knew that Jack being here would only complicate matters further.

Chuck needed only two people here. Jack may have been blood, but Blair and Nate were family.

"He's right, Blair," Jack said, looking lazily around the place. "Who's to say that little nephew hasn't gone and got himself into another spill?"

"He wouldn't do that."

"You sure about that?"

She hated how he could smirk in a situation like this.

"Maybe he's just… gone." Blair knew that Nate was trying to be optimistic, but it fell flat. "After everything… he does do that."

"You think he'd just jet off to Bangkok?" Blair asked coldly. "He wouldn't do that." She repeated herself. She had to.

"What makes you so certain?" Jack asked. "It is in the boy's nature."

"Not anymore," Blair interjected. "Not without telling me."

"Though he's more open to you playing the wife this time," Jack said, "that doesn't change the facts. I hate to break it to you, sweetheart, but Bart has a stronger hold on him than you do."

"Those are two different things." Blair still knew that it was inconsequential. All that mattered was that no one had heard from Chuck in almost twenty-four hours.

"Exactly," Jack said. "And now everyone in Manhattan knows that Chuck Bass is a failure."

Blair didn't dignify that with a response. She just stormed across the penthouse, heading straight for Chuck's room.

"_Stay here_." Blair had never heard such authority in Nate's voice. Finally Jack was held at bay as she heard her friend come after her.

Blair threw open the doors of Chuck's room to find nothing. She called his name anyway.

"Do you really think he could be here?" Nate asked.

"Well he's not anywhere else!"

She wished she didn't sound so desperate but for the first time in a long while, she felt understood. Nate was giving her such a deep look that she knew that they were feeling the exact same thing.

"He's not anywhere," Blair said in exhaustion and fear. Nate's silence didn't mean absence of thought.

There was nothing he could say that wasn't already said.

But he was more than silent.

After a moment, Blair noticed that he was looking at the door to Chuck's bathroom.

There was a light underneath it.

"Blair—"

Blair thrust the door open and was shocked into silence for only a moment.

"_Charles_!"

Her petrified cry echoed throughout the entire penthouse as she rushed into the bathroom to Chuck's side.

He was unconscious on the floor, covered in his own blood. His white shirt was a canvas of red and Blair cradled his head, hugging him towards her.

She looked up to see Nate and Jack staring at the two of them.

_ "Don't just stand there, call someone!"_

.

Blair hated hospitals. She was sure there was no one person that actually enjoyed them, but at this point in her life, she had gone to too many of them.

"Are you Mr. Bass' family?"

Blair found herself paralyzed for a moment. All she could think of was the last time when she was strapped to a stretcher and Chuck's eyes faded into incomprehension.

"I'm his uncle."

Blair quickly snapped to attention at the sound of Jack's voice and elbowed him away.

He had done enough damage when it came to Chuck's wellbeing.

"What happened?" Blair demanded. The doctor regarded her carefully.

"Perhaps we should discuss this somewhere—"

"Is he alright?" Blair asked urgently.

"I'm afraid we can only talk to family." The doctor was about to walk away with Jack. "You'll find out more about your boyfriend when we know more."

Blair felt her stomach fall. That wasn't good news. That meant something was bad. That meant blood transfusions and car accidents—

"I'm his wife."

Nate shot her a look of surprise but said nothing. Even Jack just regarded her coolly.

"I'm going to be frank," the doctor said. "Mr. Bass was vomiting blood from his stomach."

The blood drained from Blair's face. She was weakened and knew that in another moment, this could all come tumbling down.

"What?"

She had Nate's comforting proximity, but all she felt was fear.

"It probably had to do with the cocktail of drugs in his system."

"Like I said," Jack said. "Kid likes his recreation."

"They weren't recreational," the doctor said.

"What do you mean?" Blair asked.

"Do you know if your husband was on any anti-depressants?"

"Anti-depressants?" Blair repeated. "Of course not. Why would he—"

"He takes Paxil." Everyone turned to face Nate suddenly. "The bathroom is practically a pharmacy in Mexico."

"In addition to the other drugs?" the doctor asked.

"He must have…" Nate started.

"Chuck takes antidepressants?" Blair asked softly.

The doctor looked at her suspiciously. "You didn't know that about your husband?"

"Chuck was chronically depressed in the womb," Jack scoffed. "Of course he was taking antidepressants."

"He wasn't doing it for fun, Jack," Blair snapped.

"He was throwing up the lining of his stomach," the doctor said. "The two types of drugs were reacting badly together. They put that on the warning label."

"Well, lesson learned," Jack shrugged.

"He could have died," Blair said.

"We have him sedated," the doctor answered. "He'll be fine in a few days."

Strangely enough, Blair didn't find that a consolation. She collapsed into a chair in the waiting area, not surprised that she was the only one.

"He didn't know."

Blair looked up to see Nate sit beside her.

"You don't know that."

"Yes," Nate said confidently. "I do. He would never do that."

"His father has publicly denounced him and now the Economist wrote an editorial about his failure as a person at twenty-one."

"He didn't know," Nate said simply. "He probably forgot he had switched and took it too soon."

"Like your father didn't know he took too much Vicodin and whiskey?" Blair asked sharply.

"That's different," Nate said. "Chuck doesn't want to die. You've known him your entire life. You know how he gets. You're not surprised that he's taking something."

"No," Blair said. "I'm not. I'm just surprised I didn't know about it."

"He wasn't going to tell you, Blair," Nate said. "After everything that had happened, you just didn't need to know. It didn't matter."

"And now look what happened," Blair said. "Because of his regard for my feelings, he's in the hospital."

"It was an accident."

Blair sighed and leaned her head against Nate's shoulder. She was glad they were alone. For once, she was glad that she had someone that knew her. Nate understood.

It was hours before they spoke again.

"Where's Serena?"

"I don't know, Blair," Nate said sadly.

.

"You need to leave this room."

Blair didn't really know where Nate had come from. Maybe that was the sign that she had been awake for too long. In fact, there was a hint of truth to what he said. She had been sitting in the same chair for forty-eight hours.

She should care that she hadn't washed her hair.

She cared more about Chuck waking up.

"Why isn't he awake yet?" Blair asked, ignoring Nate's past remark. "The doctor's said he should be awake by now."

"They said he would be heavily sedated and would wake up in two days," Nate said, assured. "He'll wake up."

She didn't answer.

"Blair, you should go and get some—"

"Did Bart visit?" Blair asked.

Nate sighed. "You've been here the entire time. You know that he hasn't."

"I'm not leaving."

"I know."

In Monte Carlo, they were always together. He began to shed is layers more easily to her when soon there was nothing but his exposed self.

When she looked at him now, all she saw was a brick wall. Unconscious and emotionless, she couldn't see any of him.

She was afraid that when he opened his eyes again, she still wouldn't be able to.

She never meant to fall asleep. She was almost angry at Chuck for torturing her, even in an unconscious state. He was prolonging his sedation because he knew it was killing her.

But even as Blair's eyes opened, Chuck's still weren't. Standing from her chair, she couldn't help but feel overwhelming frustration at everything that Chuck wasn't doing. He wasn't waking up. He wasn't opening up to her. He wasn't being safe.

And even then, she couldn't blame him. She saw the Economist on his bedside table. No matter who put it there, she couldn't help her fluttering fury. She clenched the article in her hands.

"Don't bother. I've already read it."

Blair dropped the paper quickly to see Chuck staring up at her from his bed. For a moment, they just looked at each other.

Chuck tried a small smile. Blair walked cautiously towards him.

She slapped him across the face.

"How could you do that!"

"Is that a rhetorical question?" Chuck asked, unfazed by her reaction.

"What were you thinking?" Blair demanded, unable to hold back her emotion.

"Clearly I wasn't," Chuck replied.

"And what made you come to that conclusion?" Blair snapped.

"You are aware that I just got admitted to the hospital, right?" Chuck asked.

"Well, you deserve it," Blair retorted. "Do you have any idea what you've done?"

"So it's all about you, is it?" Chuck asked.

"Did I really deserve this?"

"You think I did this on purpose?" Chuck asked coldly.

"What's your excuse?" Blair asked. "You just forgot that you were taking two drugs that are toxic when mixed together?"

"If you haven't noticed, I've been under a lot of pressure," Chuck seethed.

"You shouldn't be reading that anyway," Blair said. "It's an opinion piece."

"Exactly," Chuck said. "I'm ruined. Do you understand that? My father is back from the dead and buries me with the cooperation of the entire city. What am I supposed to do with that?"

"So you did do it on purpose."

"Would that make you feel better?" he asked. "You want me to be suicidal? Would that make it easier on you?"

"What about this is easy for me?" Blair demanded. "You think I can watch you die? You think I can stand it?"

"The only way you can feel comfortable is if you're in control of the situation," Chuck said. "Saving me would be easier for you than accepting that there is no way to win here."

"Don't you dare say that," Blair warned. "Don't you dare say that you're some sort of charity case."

"It be easier, wouldn't it?" Chuck asked. "Instead of actually investing yourself, if it was only to fix me."

"Do not throw that at me," Blair said. "Don't act like what I feel for you was never genuine."

"The honeymoon's over, Waldorf," Chuck answered. "You're not in some fairytale anymore. We're here. And things are going to get a lot harder before they get better."

"And I'm here, Bass," Blair replied. "So you're going have to deal with that."

Chuck's jaw tightened. He refused to look at her, glaring at the opposite side of the wall. Slowly, Blair felt her rage start to slip away.

She took another step towards him, sitting on the bed with him.

He finally looked back at her.

"I just forgot," he said. "I didn't know what was happening. I couldn't…"

Blair wrapped her arms around him, holding him tight. After a moment, he returned the embrace.

"I know," she finally said.

"I'd never leave you," he said quietly. His voice was so soft she almost didn't hear it. She clung tighter.

"I wish Serena was here."

"I know," he replied.

"Do you think she's coming back?"

"I don't think so."


End file.
